Chapter 11 - Crossfire at the Grand CasinoVictoria saw the handcuffs. She saw the federal agents. She saw the absolute, permanent ruin of her life, her wealth, and her freedom.
Madness overtook what little sanity she had left.
With sudden, frantic speed, Victoria reached into the floral centerpiece on the table. Concealed beneath the white orchids was a small, chrome-plated .380 automatic pistol—a weapon she had stashed earlier that afternoon in case the negotiations with Nikolai turned sour.
She didn't aim at Nikolai.
She whipped the barrel around, aiming straight at Nina’s heart.
“If I’m going to prison,” Victoria shrieked, her finger tightening on the trigger, “you’re not getting my crown, you little hospital tramp!”
“Nina!” Nikolai roared.
Time seemed to slow to an agonizing crawl.
Nikolai moved with terrifying, unnatural speed. He threw his massive frame across the space between them, his left arm wrapping around Nina’s shoulders, pulling her entirely behind his body as his right hand drew his heavy black pistol from his tuxedo holster.
Crack!
Victoria’s bullet discharged.
The small-caliber round struck Nikolai in the left shoulder, tearing through the fine wool of his jacket, grazing the muscle before flattening against the marble wall behind them.
Nikolai didn’t even flinch. He didn’t make a sound.
Without breaking his stride, Nikolai brought his weapon to bear. A single, thunderous shot echoed from his heavy pistol, striking Victoria’s wrist with surgical, kinetic precision.
The chrome gun flew from her hand, shattering against the crystal ice sculpture.
Victoria screamed in agony, clutching her broken, bleeding wrist as she fell onto the floor among the scattered orchids.
Sergei and two federal marshals pinned her to the carpet within half a second, securing her arms in heavy steel zip-ties.
Nina gasped, her hands flying to Nikolai’s shoulder where dark crimson blood was already blooming through the black wool of his jacket.
“Nikolai! You’re shot!” she cried out, her nurse’s training instantly overriding her shock.
“It’s a scratch, Nina,” Nikolai murmured, looking down at her with a gentle, reassuring smile, his right hand cupping her cheek. “A bee sting.”
“Sit down right now!” Nina commanded, her clinical authority ringing out so fiercely that even the federal marshals stepped back in surprise. “You have a through-and-through wound near the deltoid! I need clean linens, pressure dressing, and antiseptic immediately!”
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Nikolai chuckled—a deep, rich, breathtaking sound that filled the chaotic room. He allowed the diminutive nurse in the emerald gown to push him down into a chair, watching her with absolute, undisputed adoration as she tore a white linen napkin from the table, expertly applying direct pressure to his shoulder with steady, unyielding hands.
“You see, gentlemen?” Nikolai addressed the stunned syndicate council, his eyes never leaving Nina’s fierce, determined face. “This is the woman who keeps this house alive.”
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